I wanted to tell the

man working the cafe

counter to listen for the

whistle in this song,

the one playing as he

handed me my drink,

because my old dog used

to bark every time he

heard it as we were

preparing for Sunday dinner.

I didn't,

But as I stood

at the corner,

whistling the song,

I thought of my

Baron,

and could feel the scruff of his neck,

the movement of breath

as he expanded his

barrel chest.

And even now,

as at the stoplight,

I felt enough for the day,

and just missed my

good

old

dog.